


Being Alone Is Way Worse

by found_wanderer



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, One-Shot, Pre-Slash, Underage Drinking, hints of alcoholism, post-s2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 05:35:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/found_wanderer/pseuds/found_wanderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets drunk at a playground. Derek finds him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being Alone Is Way Worse

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in any fandom ever. As such, I make no promises for quality. Or a coherent plot. Or much of an ending.

The moon is shining full and clear and bright, and Stiles knows he should be inside. Knows what lurks in the dark every night and knows what comes out to play this particular night.

He slams the door to his Jeep and determinedly stalks across the parking lot and onto the playground by the elementary school. Schools are no safer than the woods—he’s learned that the hard way. But no one’s around. Derek and Peter and Isaac are running in the woods. Scott’s out there too, on Isaac’s invitation. Stiles suspects the wolves’ quick healing will come in handy tonight. Allison and her father have been MIA for months. As has Jackson. The alpha pack has yet to make an appearance.

All things considered, it’s almost safe.

Almost.

Safety, like many things ( _an intact family, a social life, normalcy_ ), is mostly an illusion.

It’s possible Stiles is feeling a little melancholy tonight. It’s possible that feeling was helped along by the whiskey he stole from his dad’s alcohol cabinet. It’s possible that lying on a picnic table at an elementary school playground and taking long pulls from the bottle is a hundred different kinds of illegal and has also rendered Stiles unable to drive.

Getting drunk in public and semi-public places was a lot more fun when he wasn’t doing it alone, Stiles thinks, gazing up at the stars. When Scott was still around and not off bonding with Isaac, trying to lure him away from the bad influence and pure evil that are Derek and Peter. Scott’s words, not Stiles’. Stiles misses the days before Scott decided the weight of the world and everyone in it were his responsibility.

Because he feels like, in addition to all the other changes of the past few months, he’s also losing his place in Scott’s life. He can’t keep up with Scott when he patrols through the preserve, he can’t help Scott with his relationship problems when there’s no longer a relationship to speak of, and he can’t help Scott hide who he is from his mother when there’s nothing to hide anymore (Stiles chooses to ignore the twinge of jealousy he feels at that). Even the mundane things, like lacrosse and video gaming marathons, Stiles is losing. Because Isaac is a wolf and can keep up with Scott’s newfound prowess in everything, and Scott keeps inviting Isaac over in a hardly subtle attempt to prevent him from spending too much time with the remaining Hales (Scott says it’s to give Isaac a chance to be normal, but Stiles is pretty sure it amounts to the same thing).

Which is why Stiles is where he is now. He hasn’t seen Scott all week because Scott has a life and responsibilities now, and Stiles is bored and lonely. He won’t admit that to anyone—hell, he doesn’t have anyone to admit it _to_ outside of Scott himself—the same way he won’t admit that he knows the amount of time he’s spending in his own head lately is unhealthy. But what can he do when his only other option is third wheeling it with his supposed best friend and his best friend’s charity case?

Stiles takes another sip from the bottle in his hands, glances down at it. Somehow he’s already drunk half. He’s pretty sure getting drunk alone is a sign of alcoholism. Maybe, he thinks morbidly, he and his dad could bond over that since they can’t seem to talk about anything else, before hurriedly pushing the thought away.

It’s a warm night, with a soft breeze whistling through the trees separating the playground from the woods. If Stiles really listens, he thinks he can hear howls, but that might be his imagination.

“What are you doing here?”

That voice is definitely not Stiles’ imagination, and he instinctively flails away, almost dropping the whiskey bottle and himself on the ground. A quick hand hauls him upright on the table, and Stiles swings his head around to see Derek glaring at him with his arms crossed.

“Hey there, buddy,” Stiles definitely does not slur. “What’s up?”

Derek stares pointedly at the bottle that Stiles has carefully placed back on the table. “Did you really drive out here to get drunk, by yourself, on a _full moon_?”

Stiles shrugs. “Wanted some fresh air.” He forces his eyes to stay trained on Derek’s face, and not, say, roam all over his stupidly toned body like they want to. It’s not an easy task, the way Derek’s arms are bulging out of another of his infamous wifebeaters.

He wants to blame Derek for his current state of loneliness—if Derek were less of an asshole, Scott would hate him less, and spend less time trying to edge him out as a support figure for Isaac—but a voice in the back of his head tells him that isn’t true. Even if Scott liked Derek (if Scott hadn’t irrevocably decided to dislike Derek the day he met him), the only difference would be Scott working with Derek _and_ Isaac, and Stiles would be demoted to fourth wheel.

“Again,” Derek says flatly, “out by yourself on a full moon. In a town full of werewolves and hunters.”

“And an alpha pack on the way, I know,” Stiles finishes. “Though you’ll notice that lately, nothing’s been happening.”

Derek raises an eyebrow at Stiles’ alpha pack mention. Stiles wonders if Isaac was supposed to let that detail slip to Scott and by extension Stiles. And…hey. Why isn’t Derek out running with Isaac and Scott? Not to mention babysitting Peter?

“Peter went back to the house. Isaac and Scott have enough control to handle themselves now.” Derek says, because apparently Stiles said that last part out loud. “I’ll hear them if they do anything stupid.”

Stiles laughs a little at that. His head is starting to swim, though, so he quickly tamps it down. Derek looks the part of the longsuffering older brother forced into watching the children and trying to take a break, but Stiles suspects Derek actually beat a strategic retreat in the face of Scott’s complete focus on Isaac and complete refusal to acknowledge Derek’s presence.

He reaches out to pat Derek on the shoulder—and misses. He tries again. Derek takes a step out of his reach and glares. “Just saying, dude, I can see where you’re coming from,” Stiles says. Not that Scott is actively ignoring _him_ , but he knows how Scott can be to other people when he’s focused on something. Case in point: one Allison Argent.

“So…” Stiles says when Derek doesn’t respond. (Except to glare some more, which Stiles isn’t counting.) “Why are you here? Come to relive your childhood?” He winces as soon as he says it. He doubts Derek’s childhood is something he dwells on. “I mean…”

“No,” Derek finally says. “I was running this way and heard something. You, apparently. I came to check it out.”

Stiles makes a sweeping motion towards himself. Or at least he tries. It’s possible he only flaps his hand. “Check me out to your heart’s content, dude. I’m up for it.” Not a lie, unfortunately, but also maybe not his best choice of words.

Derek wisely chooses to ignore this. “You should go home. You shouldn’t be out at night anyway, especially on a full moon.”

“I’m seventeen! Practically an adult. I think I can decide when I go out and when I don’t,” Stiles sputters indignantly.

“Is that so?” A smirk twists at the corner of Derek’s mouth. “Would the Sheriff agree? You’re here because he’s working tonight, right? How would he feel if a call came in reporting a trespasser at the elementary school, and he ended up arresting his own son for public intoxication and underage drinking? How would his superiors feel?”

“Low blow, you asshole,” Stiles growls. It figures that the most Derek has ever said to him in one sitting would be to poke at his most vulnerable point. Although considering his crack about Derek’s childhood, it also figures that Derek would think turnabout was fair play.

“It’s also true,” Derek replies. “Get up. You can’t stay out here all night, and you’re too drunk to drive home on your own.”

“So you’re going to…take me home?” Stiles asks uncertainly. Again, maybe not his best choice of words. But thus far he’d characterized his and Derek’s relationship as epic moments of life-saving interspersed with larger chunks of snark and working at cross-purposes to each other.  This did not fall into either of those categories.

Derek makes a face that Stiles can only describe as a mixture of amused and self-deprecating. “Apparently so. Tempted to leave you where are, though, if you don’t start moving.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “It was your idea to make me move,” he mutters, but he carefully starts edging himself off the picnic table. The world spins as his feet touch the ground, and he grasps at empty air for a second before he feels Derek’s arms come up between his arms, supporting him.

Stiles hangs there for a second like a puppet. Derek’s arms are outstretched, leaving almost a foot of space between him and Stiles, and Stiles can’t get any traction to stand up. Until Derek tosses him over his shoulder like he weighs nothing at all.

The world spins alarmingly. Again. Stiles bites back bile before attempting—and failing—to punch Derek on the back. “I can walk, you know!” he shouts. “Two perfectly good legs _right here_!”

“Faster this way,” Derek replies, both smug and amused. The asshole.

Stiles glares, but since he’s facing the opposite direction from Derek, it has no effect at all.  “Hey,” he says as Derek starts to walk towards his Jeep. “What about the whiskey?”

He can feel Derek rolling his eyes as he walks back to the table, picks up the bottle, and dumps it in a nearby trashcan.

“Seriously?” Stiles moans. “My dad is definitely going to notice that’s missing, and in case you _hadn’t_ noticed, I can’t exactly go out and buy him another one.”

“He was also going to notice it was half empty,” Derek replies. “And you don’t need more of it.”

Stiles mouth flaps around for something to say before he settles on, “Yeah, thanks for stating the obvious and completely unhelpful.” He decides it’s the better part of valor not to mention the system he’s perfected for transferring alcohol between bottles and adding a bit of water (never enough to impact taste, though) so that no bottle looks emptier than the others.

“In the spirit of helping Stiles that you are currently displaying—and I have saved your life on numerous occasions and harbored your fugitive ass, let me add—how would you feel about purchasing a replacement  bottle?” he adds.

In response, Derek reaches up and palms Stiles ass. Or that’s what Stiles thinks at first, until he realizes they’ve reached the Jeep and Derek is getting his keys. Derek opens the passenger door with one hand and heaves Stiles into the seat. Stiles’ manly pride is not at all injured that he can be maneuvered with so little obvious effort.

The drive home is quick and silent. Derek doesn’t seem inclined to talk, and for once, Stiles can’t think of anything to say. Or rather, he doesn’t feel like anything needs to be said. If he were willing to think about it more deeply, he would say the silence between them was comfortable. Stiles isn’t willing to think about the situation more deeply.

Derek guides him to the front door—no carrying this time, thank God—and into the house. They stand awkwardly in the hall for a few moments, and now Stiles feels that something should be said, but he isn’t sure what.

“Thanks for, uh, getting me home,” he ventures. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Derek rolls his eyes at the last part. Again, if Stiles were inclined towards deeper thought at the moment, he would consider that for all that Derek was dismissive and sarcastic, he never left anyone to fend for themselves if he could help it. Stiles didn’t want to think too deeply about that one either.

“No problem,” he replies, moving towards the door.

Stiles reaches his hand out to grab his shoulder. He doesn’t miss this time.

Derek gives him a pointed look. “I think you can make it up the stairs on your own, Stiles.”

“Uh,” Stiles says, taking his hand back. “Yeah, I probably can. I was just gonna ask if you were hungry or anything. You know, after all that running in the woods. Since the bite, Scott’s been able to eat an entire pizza in one sitting after lacrosse practice or whatever, so I wondered…” Stiles trails off feeling vaguely like he’s just invited someone in for coffee after a date.

“I have food,” Derek replies, the look on his face something Stiles can’t decipher.

“Pfft,” Stiles scoffs. Now that he’s gotten himself into this, he intends to see it through. “I highly doubt you have a refrigerator in your horror mansion or the train station. If you have food, it’s either just caught and still bleeding, or overly processed and unhealthy. I on the other hand, have an entire chicken and veggie pizza sitting in my fridge that you are welcome to.”

Derek looks at him uncertainly. After a long minute, he says, “You just happen to have an entire pizza sitting around?”

Stiles shrugs awkwardly. “I got pizza for my dad and me for dinner, but he got called into the station before he could eat. He’ll probably get some kind of artery-clogging burger while he’s there, so yeah.”

He doesn’t feel drunk anymore. He kind of wishes he did, though, if only to remain oblivious to the awkwardness that’s descended on the situation.

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay,” Stiles adds. “I just wanted to say thanks and get rid of some extra food at the same time.” He tries a laugh, but it sounds forced so he trails off and stares at a point behind Derek’s head instead.

Why is he even doing this? Slight crush on the hot guy he generally dislikes who just did a nice thing for him notwithstanding. It might be the general loneliness that he’s pretty sure Derek can relate to, what with only crazy Peter for company and Scott determined to steal or save, depending on your perspective, his other remaining pack member. It might be that Derek is an asshole who sometimes does decent things and who hasn’t caught a break in a long while. Or whatever.

Derek still looks like he wants to bolt, but finally he shrugs. “Fine,” he says and walks off towards the kitchen.

“Make yourself right at home then,” Stiles mutters after him.

He heats up the pizza in the microwave and hands Derek a Coke. True to form—HA—Derek wolfs down the food, only pausing to glare at Stiles’ wolf jokes. Stiles smirks right back. “What can I say, dude? Werewolf eating habits are a font of material.”

After polishing off the entire pizza, Derek wanders into the living room. Stiles trails after him. “I’d give you the grand tour, but I didn’t think you cared. “

Derek pauses in front of the alcohol cabinet. He opens it and peers inside. Stiles knows he’s taking in the collection of bottles, but his expression doesn’t change. Finally he turns to Stiles. “You really think he’ll notice one’s missing?”

Stiles laughs. “Yeah, dude, I’m pretty sure he will. Most people are well aware of what kind and how much booze they’ve got stored.”

Derek shrugs. “Werewolves can’t get drunk. There was never any alcohol in my house growing up.” He doesn’t sound defensive, just matter of fact.

It’s the first time Stiles has heard Derek say anything about his past, even if it’s only in conjunction with an innocuous piece of information that Stiles had already gleaned from Scott. “Well, take it from me, at some point he will notice. Maybe not tomorrow, but eventually. Unless I replace it.”

“You could tell him you dropped it accidentally. He’d probably believe that,” Derek says with a smirk. He runs a finger through the thick layer of dust in the cabinet and sniffs. “Tell him you were cleaning when it happened.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Oh, look, Sourwolf pulling out the jokes. Clever idea there—I would know because—ah—,” he scrunches up his face and glances away. “I might have used that one already,” he says in a rush.

Derek’s only reaction is a quirk of one brow. “Really,” he says, toneless.

“It’s not a _habit_ or anything,” Stiles hurries to explain—which is entirely true, since he can only get away with shifting alcohol around to hide what he takes about once a month. “Just that I went out to the woods with Scott back when he first got bitten, and I forgot to bring the bottle back then too. So I said I broke it because I was rearranging the bottles to clean the cabinet—”

Derek looks pointedly back at the dusty cabinet.

“—but I didn’t finish after I broke the bottle. Shut up,” Stiles says. He doesn’t add that this was before his relationship with his dad went completely to hell, before every look from his dad became tinged with quiet disbelief and reproach. His dad believed his lie then, hook line and sinker, and even laughed at the failure of Stiles’ alleged attempt to help.

Even if Stiles could somehow get away with the same lie twice, he knew his father didn’t believe anything he said these days, and if he thought this particular path was the one Stiles was heading down, his father’s reticence to push for an explanation would be over.

“And since my dad pretty much knows everything I tell him at this point is a lie,” Stiles says, going for the shortened summary, “I don’t think there’s any excuse that would work.”

Derek nods and brushes by him, heading towards the door. “I’ll bring a new one by in the morning.” He fixes Stiles with a hard look. “Leave it for your father.”

Stiles throws him a mock salute. “Whatever, Sourwolf.” Then adds, “Thanks.”

“See you tomorrow, Stiles,” is all Derek says, slipping out the door and into the darkness.

“You’re welcome for the pizza!” Stiles shouts after him.

********

Derek sneaks in the next morning to drop off the whiskey. The sheriff is still asleep, and Stiles knows Scott and Isaac are sleeping off the full moon.

He considers making breakfast for himself and Derek for a second but dismisses it. Too presumptuous when he and Derek are barely friends, too risky with his coordination and his dad just upstairs.

So he asks if Derek wants to grab some food at the local Denny’s. Derek gets the same look on his face as he had last night—part shuttered longing (now that Stiles is sober enough to understand it), part desire to be anywhere but there—but he says yes just the same.

Stiles leaves a note for his dad. _Out with Scott. Be back soon. Love you._

He ignores the twinge he feels at the lie. It never gets easier. None of it gets easier. None of it gets better.

But as he traipses out the door towards the Camaro, Stiles figures at least he isn’t doing it alone.


End file.
